


Handwritten

by there_must_be_a_lock



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e01 Doubt, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Other, Sad Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:02:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29881554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/there_must_be_a_lock/pseuds/there_must_be_a_lock
Summary: Spencer finds Gideon's note.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader
Kudos: 6





	Handwritten

The handwriting is narrow and cramped, but you know it doesn’t take Spencer more than a second or two to read the note. He’s frozen for much longer than that. 

He stares down at the page, long fingers brushing over the imprints of ink, running over the lines that he’s already memorized. It might as well be Braille, for all that he’s seeing the words right now. He puts the paper down, deliberate and slow, and slides it across the table to you, but you knew what was coming the second you saw the envelope. 

Spencer looks so fragile, thin skin drawn tight over birdlike bones as his mouth twitches with the effort of not crying. He’s got this delicate frame and this big soft heart, and the hits just keep coming. If you didn’t know him, if you weren’t familiar with the steel under the smile, you’d never guess there was enough padding on his skeleton to absorb the impact of another blow, but here he is. 

He _hurts_ , though. Spencer is hurting, so you are too. 

You reach out, curl your fingers around his bony wrist, and he forces a smile. 

“I’ll be fine,” he insists — force of habit. “I’m gonna get some air. I’m fine, don’t worry.” 

You wonder, not for the first time, how long it’ll take him to realize that he never needs to pretend with you. 

Not that you’ll push. It hasn’t been long since the two of you got together. His defenses weren’t built in a day, and they’re in place for a reason. You can work, as long as it takes, to earn his trust. 

The door slams shut behind him, and you count slowly to ten before you follow him out. 

He’s sitting on the porch stoop, hugging his knees, hunched like he’s trying to protect himself. You sit down next to him, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close. 

There’s a moment of resistance as he insists again, “I’m fine.” His voice cracks. 

“You don’t have to be,” you whisper. 

He folds, curling into you, shoulders shaking as he takes a deep convulsive breath, and you hold him, fists clutching the back of his shirt, until his tears soak through your shirt — until your muscles go stiff — until the moon rises and Spencer cries himself hoarse. 

You don’t tell him he’ll be okay, and you don’t tell him you’ll never leave him. You don’t pretend. You don’t make promises you can’t keep. 

All you can do is hold him, in that moment… and in that moment, it’s enough. 


End file.
